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the picturesque beauties of Savoy, but still their powers are momentary, it is inevitably borne away to those mighty ramparts, which, in reality, hide their summits in the clouds; and there it ranges along the vast amphitheatre of one hundred and eighty leagues in extent, receiving impressions of grandeur, of majesty, of sublimity, which the most fertile imagination cannot describe. To say the Alps came up to all I had conceived of them is little, and to say they surpassed anticipation is no more. The person who can look down with apathy and unconcern upon the magnificent panorama, which is to be seen from Mount Jura, has no relish for the scenery of nature, and he that can behold the Alps, for the first time, shooting up into heaven amid a cloudless sky, and radiating from their summits of snow and ice all the brilliancy and colouring which the setting sun gives to them, without feelings of rapturous delight and wonder, is not worthy to enter that land which has proved the abode of the great worshippers of Nature, since his soul must be incapable of appreciating those things which to them have been, and are still, the purest and most exalted—nay, the inexhaustible sources of mental enjoyment!

In order to enjoy this scene to the full, we walked down to the town of Gex; on our way we saw the fountain, erected by Napoleon Bonaparte, which bears the following inscription:—

Gal. Des Pts. & Chefs.

Over the uppermost line of the inscription was a space, from which the name of Napoleon had been effaced. A woodcutter, near the fountain, shewed us all its beauties and properties with great eagerness, not forgetting the space from which "Son nom" had been erased! Before entering Gex, we rejoined the diligence. As we proceeded towards the village of Ferney the road became flat, the fields, orchards and vineyards enclosed with hedges, and the neat, white farm houses, just as in England. Every thing indeed, intimated, that we were in a different land. The inhabitants and the agriculture both, told us we had left France. There were none of those farcical groupes we had seen in Burgundy—none of those little wooden ploughs drawn by asses, with their mouths enclosed in baskets to prevent them stopping to eat grass, driven by the woman mounted astraddle on one of the asses, with ploughman trucked out with wooden shoes, cocked hat and powdered hair, accompanied by the never-failing ragged boy that breaks the clods—every thing was much the same as at home. With the exception of greater fertility and extensive vineyards, we could, without much stretch of imagination, have believed ourselves in Britain.

Passing Ferney, our approach to some more important place than for two days at least we had been accustomed to, was announced, by a string of oddlooking vehicles on four wheels, drawn by one horse and peculiarly low hung, and, ere long, we crossed the draw-bridge which leads into Geneva, and found ourselves, once more, amidst the bustle of the city. At the gate our passports were taken from us, and we were desired to call next day for them at the Hotel de Ville.

It is the fate of all travellers, occasionally, to feel the pain of parting with good company, and it was our case, assuredly, when we bade adieu to our fair compaipion de voyage at the door of the "Balance d'Or." Our lively friend, we discovered, was the daughter of a Protestant clergyman, and was returning to Lausanne from a long visit to some friends in Flanders, without a guardian. This, however, is no uncommon occurrence in France or Switzerland, which, in some degree, may account for the ladies being not so distant in their manners as in Great Britain, where it is considered a sine qua non to have a male companion. If we might be permitted to judge of the character of the Swiss from this lady, we certainly prefer it to that

of the generality of other nations. To the ease of the French character she united many of the sober qualities of the English, and possessed, in a high degree, the Swiss characteristic of enthusiastic love for the beauties of her country. The truth of Goldsmith's lines, descriptive of the Swiss,

"Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
CUngs close and closer to his mother's breast;
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar,
But binds him to his native mountain more,"

could never have been better illustrated than in our female companion's feelings and conversation, during our last day's journey. At the sight of Jura she felt her approach to the scenes of her infancy, and, with poetic rapture, hailed the kindred scene; and, when the lake and the mountains she had been so well acquainted with, burst upon her view, she exclaimed, in a sort of extascy of delight, " Voild mon lacJe suit chez moi /" Amidst the wilds of the Jura scenery her poetry kept us alive, I pencilled down four lines, not so much for their sweetness as to remember the con-amore spirit with which they were repeated—

Asyle obscur de non heureuse enfance,

Lieu toujours cher et toujours regretti—

De vous voir n'est il plus d'espernnce,

Et sans espoir vous aurois-je quitte? Home everywhere has its attractions, but when in the neighbourhood of the scenes of our infancy, it has ties that can bind the most volatile to it for ever. Who has not felt a powerful spell drawing him

"• » to the pleasant fields, travers'd so oft,
In life's morning march when his bosom was young?"

And who, after a long absence from his country, when his native city or native valley meets his eye, has not experienced the most heartfelt satisfaction in recognizing the well-known spots which were the haunts of his childhood? Of home, Southey truly says—

"There is a magic in that little word;
It is a mystic circle that surrounds
Comforts and virtues never known beyond
The hallowed limit."

When Lausanne was descried by our Swiss compa-
nion, all her home attachments appeared to be sensibly
awakened, and all the tender and joyful recognitions
between father and daughter, brother and sister, seem-
ed to rush on her mind and to monopolize her
thoughts, for, from that moment, she could talk of
nothing else but the dear capital of the Pays de Vaud
and the charming Lake Leman. It was impossible
not to admire the lady's amor Patrice, and not to be
convinced upon the whole, that her opinions of her
country and of her home were fixed as decidedly as
those which the ill-fated Kirke White has put into the
mouth of the home returning Savoyard!
Oh! yonder is the well-known spot,

My dear, my long lost native home!
Oh! welcome is yon little cot,

Where I shall rest, no more to roam!
Oh! I have travell'd far and wide,

O'er many a distant foreign land;
Each place, each province I have tried
And sung and danced my saraband.
But all their charms could not prevail
To steal my heart from yonder vale.


Act I.—Scene 2.
Punch, Doctor and Publican.

Doctor.—This is the person, Mr. Punch, whom I said I would bring to teach you to make Glasgow Punch, and after that you can make your fortune as soon as you please.

Punch.—(embracing Boniface)—Ah ! my dear friend, how my heart dance de big dance in my bosom at de sight of your very good face.

Publican.—Haud aff your hands—man, that's Do Glasgow fashion.

Punch.—Ah! mine goot friend, teach me how to make de grand liquor, and I will be any fashion you please.

Doctor.—Mr. Punch, our friend Boniface here will not only teach you to make punch, but will also let you have bis business, if you give him a good price for it.

Punch.—Ah! my dear Doctor, though I wish to learn to make de punch, I don't mean to be de publican—no, no, no, no, I have oder fish to fry—I wish to learn to make de punch, and de punch will get me de vote.

Doctor Vote ! I!

Punch—Ah! Doctor, you not understand me too much, I change my mind, I not mean to be de publican man now, but de Parliament man, and de Glasgow punch will get me de Glasgow vote, and when I be de member for Glasgow I will den look out for myself, and get one great big bag of money to keep me and Judy from starve.

Doctor.—What! Mr. Punch the mountebank! the charlatan, I have the assurance to offer himself for the suffrages of the people of Glasgow—impossible!—you must be dreaming, Mr. Punch.

Punch.—If I be dreaming, I hope it is de golden dream dat will soon be realized. Your member must be man of great talent, and I am man of great talent —all de world knows dat—for I have told all de world dat myself. If de Glasgow people want de great oration I am de great oration myself, and I can shew them speeches which I have speak, all printed in letters of gold I 1!

Doctor.—These are what you call " brilliant speeches," I presume, Mr. Punch—but don't you know there is some other qualification wanted, than what you have mentioned.

Punch.—What is dat.

Doctor.—Just three hundred good sterling pounds a-year, Mr. Punch.

Punch—(scratching his head.)—I knew dat—dat is what is called de devil in de hedge—but I'll tell you what I mean to do.

Doctor.—Well, let me hear your scheme of finance.

Punch,—It is one grand cunning little scheme— first of all I will sell my show-box—den I will buy three hundred pounds a-year in de British funds— den I will go to de Reform meeting, and I will make de grand oration, and Judy she will be sitting behind me among de oder orators Judys, seeing de performance! and de people will all cry, "Punch for ever," and I will give de ten pound voters de grand ocean of cold punch, and I will get all de votes, and I will be de member.

Doctor.—Well jumped. Mr. Punch, you get over the ground amazingly—but I should like to hear one of your grand orations that is to do all this for you.

Punch.—You shall hear dat—I have got one in my pocket all in de proper language, for I am one great big genius. Always keep dat in mind if you please, sare.

Doctor.—You must stand up.

Punch I will stand up on des chair, but I must

call Judy to hear me—Judy, my dear.—[Enter Judy.} —You sit down behind me, and look like the Judys you saw t-oder day.

Judy.—And hear you talk about de breaches—O, Mr. Punch, Mr. Punch—O fy, Mr. Punch, you grow de very naughty man since you come among de vulgar Glasgow men, dat talk such bad words before der Judys.

Punch—My dear Judy, you know your own Mr. Punch is too much de big gentleman as to speak words dat would make any fine lady make her moat small. —[Punch, turning to the Doctor.'}—Well, my dear Doctor, you now see me on de chair which we shall call de Hustings, and you must suppose me dressed in de very clever looking black coat, and de poetical black velvet waistcoat, dat we call de man of genius waistcoat, and de long tight—tight—with de silk stocking and de small shoe, and de pretty leetle opera

hat on my head, which I always put on on de great occasion.

Doctor.—What! would you address the ten-pound freeholders in an opera hat, Mr. Punch.

Punch.—No, no, no, no—not in de opera hat; I would put my opera hat under my arm so—and I would have de leetle swivel in de toe of my shoe, so dat I could wheel round to de people on de south side, and de people on de port side, and de people on de east side, and de people on de west side, on de shortest notice, and I would hold out my oder arm so, and I would say—" Men of Glasgow, exhausted with running all de week after de tails of your meeting, I can add noting striking to de features which I see around me, but what I hold in my hand, and dat is my mout; and when my mout is in good health, it can speak for itself. It is a mout, and I will make appeal to yourselves, dat never has been shut when your interest required it should be open. Here, men of Glasgow! is de mout dat has always proved itself de battering ram of public opinion, and will never cease to ram de reform bill down the throat of de boroughmongers. Here is de mout, men of Glasgow! dat has always roared like de lion in de cause of liberty, when oder men, dat I could name, have just made de cheap like de mouse. Here is de moot, men of Glasgow! whose jaw will grind de corrupt jaw of de enemies of reform to atoms, and scatter it like chaff to de four winds of heaven. Here is de mout, men of Glasgow! that has de teeth dat will make the foes of de people bite de dust. Here is de mout, men of Glasgow! dat holds de tongue dat noting can hold but itself; dat, like de tongues of de great Tom of Lincoln, will be heard above every oder tongue, when it jows from pole to pole in de great cause of de people. Yes, men of Glasgow! de Poles have been de very bad used people; but I hope, eer long, dat de goddess of liberty will extend her arms from Pole to .Pole. Yes, men of Glasgow! here is de mout dat is de scabbard of dat sword which, like de sword with de two edges, will pierce de phantom forms, of dubious sex, dimly seen, like damned spirits moving behind de trone. Yes, men of Glasgow! I have drawn des sword, and I will throw away de scabbard. Here is de mout, men of Glasgow! from which the waters of Helicon flow in one eternal gush, and by which de flowers of eloquence grow up like willows by de water courses. Yes, men of Glasgow! I hope you will join me in calling from amid the rich luxuriance of those oratorical flourishes and flowers that have grown up in their spontanious redundancy, a wreath—a bloomingly transcendent wreath—to garland the lofty Shaksperian brow of public opinion. Here is de mout, men of Glasgow! dat has never mumbled de crust of corruption. Here is the mount dat has never longed after de rich skimmings of de political flesh-pots ofEgypt. But here!—here,men of Glasgow! is de mout, (and I say it with de great big pride), dat waters from morning to night,and from night to morning,after de honour of being your representative; and if you will grant me your suffrages, you will find my mout—dat mout which I am now about to lay my hand upon—de storehouse of wisdom, and de granary of gratitude. Men of Glasgow 1 I bow to de shadow of de shoe-tie of your approbation. [Mr.Punch descending from the chair.}— Der, Doctor—dere is de speech which I will print in letters of gold, and de ten pounders will all cry bravo, Mr. Punch! tree cheers for de King, and tree cheers for de great distinguished Mr. Punch!

Doctor, —I fear, Mr. Punch, it will not do. How can you think that our very intelligent community can be caught by such mouthfuls of chaff and nonsense as you have given out?

Punch.—Chart' and nonsense s

Doctor.—Yes—is it not nonsense for a man to say he will throw away his mouth?

Punch.—I did not say I would throw away my mout. I said I would throw away de scabbard of de sword— but you have de soul of de dull dunghill cock in -your body, and you not understand de grand and lofty flight of de eagle-winged genius, when it is impelled upwards by de mighty impulses of de glorious gushings of its heaven-born poetical imaginings, that come over de mind of de poet, like de grand cataract,and sweep away all de common-place ideas of litlle-souled men.

Doctor.—Fine words, Mr. Punch—but very obscure and much like a giblet pie—you have the odds and ends of ideas, the legs and wings as it were, but nothing distinct or intire—

Punch Giblet pie !—You are very bad judge,

Doctor. De obscurity you speak of is like de vapour dat passes over de landscape—it is quite natural—it is like de black patch 011 de fair face of nature dat give grace and beauty to de countenance, it is de mist on de mountain, and though de mountain is not all seen, nor distinct, nor entire, will any man but a fool say dat de mountain is not der?

Doctor.—I don't understand your logic, Mr. Punch; and I much fear, neither your oratory nor your logic will take in the Glasgow market.

Punch.—Well, well, Doctor—I will give you a few more specimens of eloquence; for I wish my friends to judge for me, and tell me where my great strength lies, and what style I ought to follow, and what is my particular vein, and de bent of my genius; and I throw myself, at full length, on de kindness of my friends, to tell me all dis. Now, I shall give you a speech in a-noder style.—[Punch ascends the chair, sticks his thumbs in his arm-pits, rears back his head, pushes forward his chest, and, shaking the curls of his brown wig with a dignity and gravity becoming the great Thunderer of Olympus himself, thus begins.. —Hear me for my cause, and be silent that you may hear—take your fingers out of your ears and put them in your mouts, that you may be de more silent and attentive to de simultaneous, spontaneous, and instantaneous burst of—

Doctor.—(Looking at his watch.)—Stop, stop, Mr. Punch, you must excuse me, my time is up, I am off, in the mean time our friend Boniface will give you your first lesson in punch making, and he, perhaps, will also teach you to rumble an egg, an excellent old dish just coming again into fashion, and patronized by the Rumblegumpy Club.

Publican.—It's my wife that does that, Sir.

Doctor.—Well, well, settle it among yourselves— I'm off. I will hear your specimens another time.— [Exeunt Doctor, while Judy, Punch and the Publican, retire to the adjacent. ]



The human soul is a simple essence; one of whose properties is to form rational conceptions within itself, directing and disposing of this sensitive body, (viz. Man) by means of certain powers and instruments.

This essence is not matter nor material, nor is it perceived by any of the senses. And, in order to establish this, it is necessary to demonstrate certain things:

1st. The proof of the existence of the soul.

2d. That it is an essence.

3d. That it is a simple.

4th. That it is neither matter nor material.

5th. That it conceives by itself, and operates by means of organs or instruments.

6th. That it is not perceived by any of the senses.

1st. Now for the proof of the first, viz. the existence of the soul, no argument is necessary, its existence and

• Extracts from the Ahhlnak i Naseri, a work written about the middle of the 13th century, by Mohammed Ben Hassan, (whose literary title was Nasser u DeenJ—in the mountains of Persia, when the forced ijuest of a successor of that Hussicn from whom the English word assassin is said to be derived; the same who in the history of the Crusades is styled Sheikh ul JubalLord of the Mountains,—not the Old Man of the Mountains, as generally translated Translated in 1789.

identity being the most evident and obvious of all things to a rational man; inasmuch as, asleep or awake, sober or intoxicated, a man may forget all things except his own being. Now, in what form shall any man produce an argument of his own being? for the nature of an argument is, to be a medium which shall lead the prover to his proof.

Now, if an argument be made use of to establish the existence of one's own being, the argument is a medium between a thing and itself: Hence—to argue the existence of self is absurd and impossible.

N. For proof of the 2d, viz. That it is an essence: Every entity, except the Almighty, the self-existing, is either an essence or an accident; which may be thus illustrated.—Every entity either exists of itself, or dependent on some other entity, which exists independently—as whiteness and blackness, which are accidents, or properties of a body; and the figure of a chair, which is dependent on the existence of the wood; for if the body did not exist there could be no blackness, and if the wood, or some substitute for it, did not exist, there could be no figure of a chair. And such entities are called accidents; for, were this not the case, they must have existed of themselves, without any dependence on other independent things: like body and wood, above exemplified, which are called essences.

This distinction being established, we affirm that the mind, or distinctive nature of man, cannot be an accident; for it is the nature of an accident to be borne and received by some other thing independent in itself, so as to admit of its bearing and receiving that accident. But the mind of man bears and receives ideas of external images, and intellectual inferences, and both image and inference exist together in the mind, and are again obliterated, a property which is repugnant to accident. The soul, therefore, cannot be an accident. Now, it having been proved that every entity is either an essence or an accident, it follows that the soul is an essence. Q.E.D.

M. That it is a simple, is thus demonstrated:— Every thing that exists is either divisible or indivisible. What is indivisible, we here distinguish by the name of simple; and what is divisible, by the name of compound. Now we say that the soul conceives itself to be one. For though it may affirm unity, and its opposite, with regard to other things, still it cannot apply number to itself, so as to admit of one being but apart of itself. Now, if the soul were divisible, by dividing the subject, the property would necessarily be divided also—and unity, which is a property of the soul, would be divisible—which is impossible, for unity is indivisible. It therefore follows, that either the soul is indivisible, or that it does not conceive itself to be one. Now the futility of the latter being evident, the former, which was to be demonstrated (viz. its being a simple) is proved.

4th. To shew that it is neither matter nor material: We say all matter is compound and divisible, the proof of which is, that place a material body, admitted to be such, between two other bodies which are in contact with it, on each side,—of necessity that which touches it on one side, cannot touch it on the other, otherwise it would not prevent them from touching each other, and therefore could not be a body between them, but would be a part of these bodies; and as it is in contact, at two separate parts, with two separate things, it must itself be capable of parts; such body being therefore compound, the qualities borne and received by it must likewise be compound; for if the subject be divided, its property is divided also. Of course, nothing that is matter or material can be a simple; now we have shown that the soul is a simple—Hence—the soul can neither be matter nor material.

Again—No matter can receive a new figure or impression, until that which it possesses be removed: Thus, a triangular body cannot become quadrangular, until the triangular figure be removed; and a bit of wax, which has received the impression of a seal, cannot be conceived to possess another impression until the former one be removed; for if anything of the former impression still remain, they are both confused, and neither complete—and this may be affirmed as a constant and universal property of matter. Now, the nature of the soul is contrary to this; for how many images soever are impressed upon it, whether from reflection or sensation, it receives them all in succession, without the necessity of removing one for the reception of the other, but the whole are completely and perfectly imaged upon it. Nor can it ever happen that, from the number of images impressed, it can be rendered incapable of receiving more; but, on the con. trary, the greater the multitude of the images it contains, the greater is, in fact, its facility of acquiring more. And hence it is, that the powers of the mind, and its capacity to receive instruction and knowledge, are increased in proportion to our attainments in science and literature. Now, this property is opposite to the properties of matter—Hence—The soul is not matter.

Again—No sense can have a notice of any thing that is not an object of that sense. Thus, vision has notice of no perception that is not visual ; and bearing, of none abstracted from sound. Besides, no sense can be sensible of itself, or of its own sensitive organ. For example, the sense of vision neither sees the seer, nor the eye—nor can any sense perceive its own errors. Thus, the eye sees the sun, which is more than one hundred and sixty times larger than the earth, of the same size as the moon, and has no notice of this prodigious mistake. And thus of a tree on the margin of a lake—the cause of its apparent inversion in the water can never be perceived by the sense of vision. And the same holds good with regard to the errors of the other senses.

Now, the soul perceives at the same instant the sensations of all the senses—and determines a specific sound to proceed from a specific object of vision, and that this sound is the produce of that object. In the same manner the soul comprehends the distinct power and particular organ of each sense, distinguishes their natures, their frailties and their errors; and of their notices, discriminates which are right and which are wrong; and, of consequence, credits some and rejects others. But it is evident that it does not derive this kind of knowledge from the senses; for it is impossible to obtain from any sense that which it does not possess, nor can it have received from a sense a decision which belies that sense. It is therefore evident that the soul is distinct from the corporeal senses, that it is of a more noble nature, and of more perfect comprehension.

5th. That it conceives by itself, and operates by means of instruments, is proved by its consciousness; for it cannot possibly be conscious by means of an organ or instrument, so as to admit of an instrument between itself and its existence. And it is on this principle that a thing which obtains notices by means of an instrument, cannot comprehend by itself; for, as we have said, the instrument cannot be between it and itself, nor can self, when made a medium, serve as an instrument to self. And this is the meaning of Philosophers in affirming that, with regard to reason, the agent, the thing acted on, and the act, are one and the same.

That the soul operates by means of instruments, is evident from its perceiving by means of the senses, and communicating motion by means of muscles, tendons, and nerves, the detail of which belongs to Physiology.

That it is not perceived by any of the senses is proved by the senses having no notice of any thing that is not matter or material. Now the soul is neither matter nor material—Hence, it is not perceived by them.

This is what we proposed to discuss regarding the nature of the soul, which may suffice as far as regards what we already affirmed on that subject.

But it is,moreover, to be understood, that the human soul continues to exist after the dissolution of the body,

and that death has no power to destroy it; but, on the contrary, that its annihilation is by no means possible. # » * # *

(A demonstration is here omitted, too much savouring of the subtleties of the old schools of the West, and quite unworthy of the subject. It rests chiefly on a play of words, regarding the terms existence in esse, and annihilation in potentia.J


Moreover, any person who minutely considers the properties of bodies, has an accurate knowledge of their dependence on the laws of composition and association, decomposition and disjunction, and is well versed in the whole science of the world of corruption and decay (Chemistry) must know, that no body, whatever, becomes entirely extinguished; but that accidents, modes, composition, association, figures, and qualities which subsist in a compound subject, may be changed while the amount of matter shall still remain the same. For example, water may become air, and air fire, but the matter which receives these three separate appearances will still subsist, otherwise it could not be said that water became air, and air fire; for if an entity should be extinguished, and another produced, so that no sort of junction subsisted between them, it would be impossible to say that one entity became the other entity, or that such matter bore the property of having its forms extinguished and varied. Now, seeing that material substances are not susceptible of annihilation, uncompounded essences, which are purer than base matter, will stand still higher touching the impossibility of annihilation.

The design of discussing this subject is, that every person who shall study this science may hold it certain that the body is a mean or instrument to the soul, as tools and instruments to mechanics and tradesmen, and not, as some have imagined, that the body is its subject or abode; for the soul is neither matter nor material, that it should be connected with subject or abode. Of course the death of the body, with respect to the soul, is no more than the loss of the instruments with respect to the tradesman.

And this position being amply and clearly established, in works of speculative philosophy, by undoubted proofs, what has been said may suffice. But God is omniscient.

[This paper was found in the repositories of a late much-esteemed clergyman of this city.]

LITERARY CRITICISM. A Qi-ekr Book. By the Ettrick Shepherd. Edinburgh, 1832.

Of late the Ettrick Shepherd has been making himself more notorious by his eccentricities, than by his literary labours, and, among these eccentricities is the name which Mr. Hogg has thought proper to make choice of for this last child of his brain. To call a collection of ballads "A Queer Book," for any other reason than that of catching the public ear by a strange sound, we are at a loss to discover, and, if this be the cause of the baptism, we must be allowed to add, that we think the author of " The Queen's Wake" ought to have been above such charlatanerie. We lately gave our opinion, at some length, of Mr. Hogg's peculiarities as a ballad writer, and the volume before us only confirms us that we were right in what we said. The Ettrick Shepherd has a fine poetical capacity for the ancient Scottish ballad, but be has neither the merit of being a correct antiquary, nor an ingenious imitator, and hence the compositions, which chiefly fill the volume before us, must be regarded not as specimens of those strains in which our forefathers used to indulge, but merely as the powerful imaginings of James Hogg. Of the ballads before us, we are most in love with "The Growsame Carle," "The Witch's Dirge," and "Ellen of Reigh," the concluding portion of which we give as a fair specimen of the volume:—

Poo a Ellen watch'd the parting strife
Of her she loved far more than life;
The placid smile that strove to tell
To her beloved that all was well.
Oh, many a holy thing they said,
And many a prayer together pray'd,
And many a hymn, both morn and even,
Was breathed upon the breeze of heaven,
Which hope, on wings of sacred love,
Presented at the gates above.

The last words into ether melt,
The last squeeze of the hand is felt.
And the last breathings, long apart,
Like aspirations of the heart,
Told Ellen that she now was left,
A thing of love and joy bereft—
A sapling from its parent torn,
A rose upon a widow'd thorn,
A twin roe, or bewilder'd lamb,
'Reft both of sister and of dam-
How could the weather out the strife
And sorrows of this mortal life!

The last rights of funereal gloom,—
The pageant heralds of the tomb,
That more in form than feeling tell
The sorrows of the last farewell,—
Are all observed with decent care,
And but one soul of grief was there.
The virgin mould so mild and meet,
Is roll'd up in its winding sheet;
Affection's yearnings form'd the rest,
The dead rose rustles on the breast,
The wrists are bound with bracelet hands,
The pallid gloves are on the hands,
And all the flowers the maid held dear,
Are strew'd within her gilded bier;
A hundred sleeves with lawn are pale,
A hundred crapes wave in the gale,
And, in a motley, mix'd array,
The funeral train winds down Glen-Reigh.
Alack! how shortly thoughts were lasting
Of the grave to which they all were hasting!

The grave is open; the mourners gaze
On bones and skulls of former days;
The pall's withdrawn—in letters sheen,
"Maria Gray—aged eighteen,"
Is read by all with heaving sighs,
And ready hands to moisten'd eyes.
Solemn and slow, the bier is laid
Into its deep and narrow bed,
And the mould rattles o'er the dead!

What sound like that can be conceived?
That thunder to a soul bereaved!
When crumbling bones grate on the bier
Of all the bosom's core held dear;
'lis like a growl of hideous wrath—
The last derisive laugh of Death
Over his victim that lies under;
The heart's last bands then rent asunder,
And no communion more to be
Till time melt in eternity!

From that dread moment Ellen's soul
Seem'd to outfly its earthly goal;
And her refined and subtle frame,
Uplifted by unearthly flame,
Seem'd soul alone—in likelihood,
A spirit made of flesh and blood—
A thing whose being and whose bliss
Were bound to better world than this.

Her face, that with new lustre heam'd,
Like features of a seraph seem'd;
A meekness, mix'd with a degree
Of fervid, wild sublimity,
Mark'd all her actions and her moods.
She sought the loneliest solitudes,
By the dingly dell or the silver spring,
Her holy hymns of the dead to sing;
For all her songs and language bland
Were of a loved and heavenly land—
A land of saints and angels fair,
And of a late dweller there;
But, watch'd full often, ears profane
Once heard the following solemn strain.


Ik the prospect of an " Order of the Day" being issued, to commence the demolition of the Jamaica Street Bridge, the following Programme of the Procession, which should take place on that melancholy occasion is submitted :—

Twelve Mutes on Mules, dressed in black, with weepers and white scarfs. Three and three.

Band of Music,
Playing,—" I'm wearin' awa, Jean."

City Beadles, with their faces blackened, with the exception of their nose. Two and two.


With his face painted scarlet, bearing the bust of the late George Murdoch, Esq. who laid the foundation stone of the Bridge, followed by two girls in white, with black scarfs, wailing forth,— "Ichabod, Ichabod!"

Twelve Saulies, with the fore finger of their left hand hardly pressed against their noses. Three and three.

Mr. G , The Ex-provost's Man, bearing a banneT, on

which is a full-length portrait of the late John Adams, architect of the condemned bridge, under which is inscribed the words, "Out o' sight, out o' mind."

Operative Louue Of Free Masons in their working clothes, walking backwards, each bearing a mallet in his lift hand, and his apron over his face, and laughing in his sleeve. The Wardens bearing iron crowbars instead of Batons, and the Bible Bearer in place of a Bible, carrying a quarto copy of Henderson's Proverbs, opened at the page, where may be seen, "It's an ill win' that blaws naebody gude."

Paislev Coaches Covered With Black Grape. Three abreast, followed by an Omnibus, surmounted with sable plumes, in which sits the Lyon King at Arms.

The Engineers of the two Water Companies, each attended by four men with buckets, for the purpose of taking samples of the water, to prove that the water running up is better than the water running down,

Police Establishment.

City Watchmen, four and four, with their rattles muffled, lanthorns lighted, and without great coats.

Scavengers, four and four, each carrying a broom reversed. [This is meant in compliment to the Lord Chancellor.]

Officers of Police, three and three, with red coats and blue collars, with crape round their left arm.

Sergeant Major.
Superintendent of Police.
Commissioners of Police,
Three and three, preceded by John M'Lurty, carrying a banner
with an inscription,

"This is not our doing."
The Trades' House.

Officer bearing the Langside Banner, renovated for the purpose, and fully mounted with crape. Corporations in reverse order.

The Convener with the master court, in an open carriage, expressly built for the occasion, under the immediate direction of the Dilettanti Society.

Two mutes arrayed as sappers and miners, each having a pair of jumpers, and followed by an unknown individual, closely masked and cloaked, with a five-pound canister of gunpowder in one hand, and a lighted match in the other.

City Officers, with their coats turned and halberts reversed.
Band of Music, ( with drums muffled,)
Playing—" Dead March in Saul."

City Magistrates w ithout their chains, and cocked hats reversed, in mud boots, and mounted on Mason's mares with wheels, and dragged by a Locomotive Engine.

City Clerks masked, with a large bundle of Acts of Parliament under their arms. On their hats the words, "We live by Bills."

The Bridge Treasurer, bearing on his back a sack of sovereigns to be thrown into the Clyde, while he holds, in his left hand, the city purse, which is empty.

The Superintendent of Public Works, mounted on a majestic hobby horse on wheels, drawn by two piebald pony, with his face to the tail, and his eye steadfastly fixed upon the 72d page of the " Annals of Glasgow," while ever and anon he is dropping a tear upon the passage which describes the bridge as one of the handsomest in the world!!!

The Renfrewshire Lairds, blindfolded two and two, led by the nose by particular members of the Town Council; Mr. W.

of K bearing a banner, on which is inscribed "Revolution

rather than Reform."

The Bridge Trustees, with their heads shaved and their handtied, supported by two individuals connected with the Upper Navigation.

* We have given a place to the above Jeu iEsprit, with the best feelings towards the public functionaries named in it. By doing so, we beg leave distinctly to state, that we mean no disrespect to any one therein alluded to, while for many who may be supposed to figure in the programme, we need hardly add that we entertain the highest personal respect.

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